After one disastrous attempt, could it really be any better the second time around?

Breastfeeding wasn’t easy for me the first time, and now that I’m pregnant again three years later, I’m not sure I’m ready to go through it all again. It’s still so vivid in my mind, and possibly scares me more than the idea of giving birth. I do know though that this time if I face the same challenges, then I won’t waste a moment on mummy guilt. It doesn’t make me a failure of a mother, and breast isn’t always best. Fed is best.

The story begins

“Your milk still hasn’t come through!” the nurse announces, as she roughly prods me. She almost seems annoyed, but I’m holding my two day-old baby, and nothing can disrupt my euphoric state. I am so loved up, and confident that my body will just know what to do. I was one of those annoying women who absolutely loved being pregnant, and I had a quick, drug-free delivery; it was all text book stuff. I am made to be a mother, I proudly told myself. So, I took my little bundle home that second day with a serene smile permanently plastered across my face. I glowed, I felt amazing. My baby slept in my arms peacefully, and latched on successfully when it was time to feed.

On the third day, the midwife came to check on us both. He was doing fine, but had lost a little of his birth weight which is normal, and my milk still hadn’t come in yet. Never mind, she tells me, it should come in tomorrow, but I’ll send another midwife just to check anyway. She leaves and I feel optimistic and excited about spending another day snuggling with my beautiful baby.

The day our happy little world came crashing in around us

Day four is a day neither my husband nor I will forget. The day we became so panic-stricken and sick with fear. The midwife checked over our son, and weighed him. Remember that we are first-time parents and this is completely new to us. She told us that he had lost a considerable amount of weight, over ten percent of his birth weight. He was also jaundiced. In a completely uncompassionate and methodical manner, she instructed my husband to immediately go and buy formula, and for me to start expressing. She made us feel like it was a matter of life or death. When she left, we both broke down in tears. I didn’t want by baby to have formula. I am a real foodie – I won’t eat food unless it’s made from scratch. I looked at the list of ingredients and felt sick, I wouldn’t put that in my own body, let alone put it in a tiny body that has only been out of a safe womb for four days.

However, this is when you know you have to put your values aside.

Your baby’s needs have to come first

He took to the bottle the first time no problem and enjoyed a full formula feed. I was disappointed in myself but ecstatic he was getting fed. We were on a mission now: ‘Operation Get Fat’, we called it. I woke him during the night every three hours to feed him, and diligently woke him again during feeds if he nodded off.

The next day a different nurse came. A kind and caring one. We breathed a huge sigh of relief at the news that our baby had gained more than a sufficient amount of weight. Mission accomplished. She told us to continue supplementing the feeds with formula. Meanwhile our baby continued to thrive and sleep well, and do all the things you hope a newborn to do.

He was doing great. I wasn’t.

I started to resent breastfeeding

I knew I was supposed to enjoy it, and that it was a wonderful bonding experience. For me, it felt unnatural and uncomfortable. I never got used to doing it in public, not even in front of my own mum. I gradually leaned more towards the formula feeding. This meant that my husband or family and friends could feed him. I could find a predictable feeding rhythm, and know exactly how much he was getting each feed and when his next one would be.

It’s only common sense to work out what this did to my supply. I persevered when we were at home though, but a feed would take an hour, he was ‘pukey’ and required being burped and upright for at least half an hour afterwards, by which point he was ready for another feed. I got mastitis twice, and by three months, I decided to give up completely. I’d like to say that I never looked back, but the guilt of giving up tore me apart. I actually tried to re-lactate a month later. A couple of excruciating weeks later of expressing and rarely getting out a drop, I finally resigned to the fact that breastfeeding wasn’t for me.

I know that I will TRY to breastfeed my baby, who will be born this Christmas, and perhaps I feel a lot more armed with knowledge this time, but I definitely want to rewrite my breastfeeding story, and do whatever it takes to feed my baby.

kidspot can be viewed on multiple devices

a note about relevant advertising

We collect information about the content (including ads) you use across this site and use it to make both advertising and content more
relevant to you on our network and other sites. This is also known as Online Behavioural Advertising. You can find out more about our
policy and your choices, including how to opt-out here